Unsent
by saveoneforblack
Summary: A letter from Chris to Cathy. (Based on books and characters by V. C. Andrews.)


My Lady Catherine,  
  
Tonight while you poured your heart and soul into dancing as you always do when on the stage, I sat in a seat in the back row of the theater, watching you do what you were meant to do, watching you be what I always knew you'd become.   
  
Though there was a full audience, I felt as if nobody was there, and you were dancing only for me. I thought back to the hot afternoons when you would dance and dance in the attic, losing yourself in the music, and I would stand in the dusty shadows, mesmerized. It was like that tonight. Everything disappeared and I swear I could smell that scent of the old wooden walls and I could see the paper garden we made for the twins. Time stood still and you were thirteen and fourteen again, and I was young, too, and confused about everything going on inside me. That's what you bring out in me, Cathy - confusion. For whenever I think of you, I'm filled with a million emotions that I could never even begin to comprehend.  
  
I have to apologize for being there and not letting you see me, but I thought it would be best that way. I know you don't need me in your life right now. Your life is finally full of the happiness and success you deserve, and I would only bring about dark memories that are better left buried. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you, but I can't help but notice the anguish in your eyes whenever I'm around.  
  
What causes you to look that way? Is it only the scars of all we suffered during those long years? Is it guilt you have for what happened between us, or hate for me because of it? Or is it just my own pain reflecting in your eyes?  
  
You've said before that my pain is your pain… but I don't think that could ever be fully true, Cathy. I don't think you could ever understand the intensity of my pain, this unspeakable agony. You love me, I know that much, and I've never doubted it even when denials come spilling out of your mouth… but you don't feel for me what I do for you. You don't live for the sound of my voice or the silky sheen of my hair, and you don't spend every waking moment thinking of me and wishing I were there beside you. You don't ache to hold me in your arms and to fall asleep listening to my breathing. You don't cry into your pillow at night wishing with every fiber of your being that you didn't have these feelings, because you don't have these feelings and they aren't killing you slowly.  
  
I have never wanted anything more than you, Cathy. Not even our freedom and our health were as coveted to me. You keep saying that I will meet other women and find someone else to love, and soon forget about my love for you that should never have existed in the first place, but that will never happen. The day will never come when I think of you and not cry inside. The day will never come when I don't yearn for your touch and your taste. These emotions will forever be engraved into my very soul, because you are a part of my very soul.  
  
I wish there were some way that I could make you understand all this without burdening you with it. I know you would feel guilty for my pain, even though it is not your fault at all; and I know you would cry for me and I don't want you to have any tears. I only want you to live your life to the fullest, to achieve all you set out to, to find the happiness and brightness and love that I never will. I want you to be happy, Cathy, whether it is with Julian or Paul or any other man. I just want you to be happy, and if you'd let me, I'd spend my entire life making that happen. If you'd let me, I'd spend my whole life showing you all the purple grass there is to see.  
  
But I don't expect that to happen. I don't expect you to someday forget I'm your brother and live with me as a wife instead of a sister. I used to believe in miracles. But I've learned not to.  
  
I don't know why I torture myself by constantly giving life to all these painful feelings, whether it is by being a secret part of your audience or by writing letters like these that will never be sent. These words will all remain a desperately hidden secret, like the four of us were for so long. But unlike the secret our mother made us out to be, mine isn't meant to benefit myself for selfish reasons. It is only meant to protect you from whatever pain or heartache my feelings might bring you, no matter how much it kills me. Loving you kills me, Cathy.  
  
But loving you also keeps me alive, because you're all I live for.  
  
Chris 


End file.
